No more half foods

With the arrival of the summer months comes the arrival of crispening temps and the lovely putting-away-of-all-sweaters-and-hoodies. Yay! Out come the shorts and tank tops!

And out flops the arm flabs and belly blobs.

Yikes. I used to be one of those girls other girls wanted to sneer at because I could eat whatever I wanted and it never showed. I never sneered back or in any way used my happy metabolism to slight anyone so it seems unfair that I am now forced to be highly aware of what I eat.

Over the past 10 years I have slowly come to terms with the middle-aged body’s blatant refusal to compensate for careless calories of any kind. I now wear 20 pounds I didn’t have 20 years ago. A pound for every year I’ve failed to understand metabolism is a fair-weather friend, there for you only when you are young and lithe.

So I did what I had to do. I stopped enjoying a long list of favorites: No more Little Debbies. No more Lay’s. No more mochas with whipped cream. No more Fig Newtons, which I love, no more toaster strudels, no more Alfredo Anything, no more Twix bars.

And do you know what happened? Absolutely nothing. I stopped eating all that stuff and NOTHING happened. I didn’t shed one jiggling ounce.

This is because, I have now learned, I must also give up everything that comes in a box. And everything made with white flour and everything which contains sugar. And cheese. And bananas, for Pete’s sake, which don’t come in a box, but holy cow, do you how much sweetness is in a banana?

I have finally come to realize that I have to change how I eat, not what I eat. And if I really want to lose the jiggle I am going to have to say no to once-harmless menus like crusty French bread and lasagna made with plain old white pasta noodles.

It doesn’t seem quite fair that the staple of all cultures – bread – has to be the first thing I must scrutinize. If it doesn’t look like its made of wood chips I shouldn’t eat it. Good bye ciabatta. Good bye baguette. Goodbye focaccia. We had become such fast friends, too. I thought you were good for me because I dipped you in olive oil like a good girl.

It’s going to take a re-education of the way I live, hence the book at the top of this blog post. I bought it on Saturday after perusing the whole shelf of books on this topic at my local bookstore, which was right next to the shelves of how to make storybook cupcakes.

What a world, what a world. . .

This morning for breakfast I had an egg and a grapefruit. No toast. No sugar on the grapefruit. So far, so good. If only I could squish the hankering I have for a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. . .